The Space Inbetween
by Rosie5
Summary: After a near fatal attack, Alex is left reeling by a revelation he cannot accept. But as the truth emerges, Alex wishes that he'd never gone digging to find out about the time lost, the agony repressed, and the space inbetween ...
1. The Other Side of the Mirror

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Chapter 1

**The Other Side of the Mirror**

- - - - -

"So are you going to call me or what? Do the James Bond types still have time to socialise?"

Sabina Pleasure had asked the question with a slightly suggestive hint to it, and the boy to whom she was speaking was momentarily stumped.

Alex Rider half-smiled as he considered the question and pushed his fair hair out of his eyes before answering.

"Yeah, I'll call you. If you can tear yourself away from your riding lessons for half a day."

Sabina laughed. It wasn't the fake girly laugh that most of the female population of Brookland School adopted these days. It was strong and truthful, much like her.

"That's rich, coming from the boy who's never at school, let alone out and about in the real world. I will find out one of these days you know … you can't stay Mr Elusive forever."

Alex felt a momentary twinge of guilt as he realised that, try as he might, he could never have a proper conversation with Sabina until she learnt the truth about his life – and yet he could not tell her.

"It's not that exciting, trust me," he said with a twisted smile; a private joke for himself only.

Sabina's blue eyes twinkled. "Well, I'm going to bed now. You've kept me out too long."

"Such a travesty."

"I'll see you around, Alex," she said, leaning in to kiss him on the cheek and he felt his head grow cloudy. He could smell her flowery perfume and her fragranced hair as she drew away, her smile lighting up her whole face.

"I … I'll – um, I'll call you," he said in a muddle.

Sabina turned her back on him and climbed the elaborate steps leading up to her grand front door in the most affluent street in London. She keyed in the security code and the great black gates swung open underneath the security cameras. Alex remained standing where he was until she had disappeared through her oak front door.

He touched the spot on his face where she had kissed him, as though unsure as to quite what had just happened, and reached for his bike, which was leaning against the lamppost.

It was surely past ten; Alex and Sabina had been to the cinema and the film had finished at half past nine. It was a wonderful feeling to a boy like Alex, able to go to the cinema and do such normal things, considering that his life was one of the most abnormal lives that a fifteen year old boy could lead.

Alex Rider, nephew of Ian Rider, was the youngest spy to ever be recruited into MI6. Approached by Alan Blunt, the Head of Special Operations, only days after his uncle's death, Alex had been caught up in a world that he had hoped he would never stumble across. Since then, he had been shot at, held against his will, hospitalised, and plainly used by a company who would never divulge what they were doing to anyone.

Most teenage schoolboys dream of becoming a spy. Alex Rider was a spy who dreamed of being a teenage schoolboy. Then again, MI6 had not contacted him for quite a long while; perhaps they had no more use for him. Perhaps the nightmarish _profession _that he had been blackmailed into from the beginning could finally end.

He clambered onto his bike and pushed off in the direction of his house. The streetlights above his head cast a garish orange glare over his head so that he looked strangely ghostly beneath them. There was not much traffic around on the roads as it was quite late. He passed a few taxis and a few older teenagers trying to gain entry into the local bars. They sounded quite rowdy and were probably drunk, but Alex wasn't worried. The black belt that he had gained in karate, in what felt to him like a previous life, kept him feeling fairly secure as he rode through the London streets at night.

Alex knew as soon as he had closed the door of his London home that there was something not right; most obviously, the keys hanging from the hooks in the lobby had been disturbed. Less obviously, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up, letting him know that something was very wrong.

Alex stood stock still in the dark hallway, his ears straining for the slightest sound, but there was none. And yet … he knew that there was someone in the house.

It wasn't Jack Starbright, the housekeeper and only guardian he had; she was on vacation with her parents in Florida.

Was it somebody out for revenge? Somebody he had stopped in the past? A flash of memories ran incoherently through his mind of people he had crossed, perhaps unwisely … Herod Sayle … Dr Grief … Savrov … Yassan Gregorvitch … it could be something to do with any one of them. Being involved with MI6 was very dangerous and could follow you home.

Alex reached out a hand, hoping to find something he could defend himself with as he had nothing remotely weapon-like on him. He had become too complacent … how naïve had it been to hope that he could leave this world behind but for a few weeks?

_As naïve as a school kid, _he thought bitterly.

It was then that the iron fire poker came swinging out of nowhere and thwacked him in the stomach. Alex cried out in shock and pain; the person wielding it had swung from his right – behind the door of the living room.

Alex sank to his knees; the pain was so sickening that it momentarily blinded him. Clutching his stomach, he screwed his eyes shut for a few seconds, opening them only to see someone in a dark hood swinging the poker above their head, back for another shot, this time attempting to crack it over his head and no doubt finish the job.

Eyes watering, Alex flung himself backwards and onto his back, rolling as he went, the pain in his stomach causing him to draw breath in sharp, painful stabs.

Now on his feet, Alex straightened up as best he could, raising his fists in defence. It was impossible to see who his attacker was; he, or she, was dressed entirely in black with a dark hood over their face. Now they came at Alex with the poker again, holding it over one shoulder like a baseball bat.

The hooded assailant swung it down at Alex again, who this time caught the attacker by the arms, blocking them from catching him. Whoever it was who was trying to kill him was very strong; Alex struggled to force their arms back again, his own limbs shaking with the force it took to hold them there. Knowing that the person with the poker was stronger than him caused him to bring his right knee up sharply, striking the attacker in the groin. There was a low grunt of pain as their arms lowered, and Alex realised in that instant that the assassin was male.

Taking advantage of this, Alex struck out with his fist, sharply backhanding the attacker across his masked face. As he felt cartilage shatter under his hand, Alex raised his own fist again for another strike, but this one was blocked by a stronger arm. Alex felt as though his whole right arm was on fire as bone connected with bone with astonishing force.

Reaching out instinctively for some kind of weapon to match the poker, Alex's left hand closed around something cold and smooth; the porcelain lamp that he and Jack had bought in New Zealand some years previously. He threw it now at the attacker, cracking it over his shoulder.

Rather than slowing him down, the attacker followed this with a fluid punch that caught Alex roughly above his right eye before he had even the chance to block it with his free hand. As his head snapped back with the force of the blow, Alex felt his eyebrow split open and hot blood begin to pump out of the open wound. Momentarily dazed, Alex had not the option to dive out of the way as the attacker surged forwards, poker forgotten, ramming his shoulder into Alex's body, barrelling him backwards and into the kitchen. They crashed into the work surface, scattering pots, pans and china plates that shattered on the tiled floor. Alex recovered first from the collision, shoving the attacker in the chest away from him and striking out with the front of his foot, kicking the male in the chest. He followed it up with a classic karate combo; a punch with his palm and an elbow crack to the side of the attacker's head.

The attacker however seemed to know that Alex's elbow was coming and caught it in both hands, twisting it in a direction that it did not want to go. There was a loud crack, louder than either of them would have thought possible to come from a limb, and in an instant, Alex's right arm was completely useless. It hurt more than anything Alex had ever felt in his life; his very arm felt as though somebody had just crushed it in a metal vice, like a car at the breakers yard. The attacker, still with Alex's arm in his grasp, twisted it around so that he was forced face down onto the work surface, his face inches from the sharp kitchen knife on the edge of the sink …

Alex brought his head back sharply, butting the man in the chin, who let go of him instantly. Knowing that he had to follow it up to stay on the advantage, Alex turned sideways and drove his foot into the man's stomach, sending him flying backwards into a glass cabinet, which shattered upon impact, showering them both in glass.

Alex made up his mind in an instant; he had to get to his bedroom, where there _was _a weapon he could use. It was not a weapon that Blunt even knew he had, in fact, Alex had been sure that Blunt would not have let him keep it had he known that it was in his possession from a previous mission.

Alex shot out into the hallway and scrambled up the stairs, but even as he neared the top, he heard a louder crack behind him. A gunshot! So the man had a gun too. Alex didn't get a chance to wonder why the attacker hadn't just shot him as he came through the door in the first place, as he felt a searing pain somewhere near his hip as the bullet grazed him and stuck in the wall, firing plaster everywhere.

Alex did not even want to feel if there was blood; he was too frightened as to how much damage he had actually done. All he knew was that the bullet had caused a dull ache to spread all over his body.

The attacker was hot on his heels and as Alex reached his room, he only had time to open the right drawer before he turned around to find a gun in his face. Bringing his hands up as quickly as possible, he somehow miraculously managed to drive the gun away towards the wall, where it fired off another shot which hit the large mirror. Alex kicked the man as hard as he could in the shins who grunted in pain. He dropped the gun, which Alex kicked away, clattering down the stairs.

The attacker barrelled into Alex once more easily, as he was much heavier than him, throwing Alex backwards into the shattered mirror. Alex felt all the breath knocked out of him and was only dimly aware that shards were cutting him all over as he struggled to draw breath. He was tiring fast and he knew it; there were only so many more times he could keep this up.

Alex had not time to blink blood out of his eyes before the hooded man placed his thick sausage-like hands around Alex's throat. Alex's hands scrabbled about on the floor, searching for something, anything, to stop him. His fingers closed around a large, sharp shard of glass from the mirror. He gripped it tightly and slashed through the air at the man who was trying to strangle him. Blood spurted from a wound that Alex made in the man's shoulder, who now staggered upwards, clutching his crimson arm.

The man finally pulled off his hood; he had short cropped black hair and a beard with black eyes, shining with anger. He was bleeding from the nose and had a livid bruise blossoming underneath one eye. He looked furious.

As the newly revealed man started towards Alex once more, he knew, with absolute conviction, that this was it; unless he somehow killed the man, the man was going to kill him. Absolutely exhausted and hardly able to move any of his screaming limbs, Alex saw the scene unfold before him in slow motion as though he were watching it on TV, not actually living it. Groggily, as though it had a life of its own, his left arm flung out to the side and closed on something cold and hard that had fallen out of the drawer.

The man stopped, almost as exhausted. His eyes were on Alex's face, as though trying to determine whether or not he would really pull the trigger of the Wolfram PP. It seemed he'd come to a decision at the last second and lurched forwards.

Alex closed his eyes and squeezed with his finger on the trigger. There was an almighty crack and a huge recoil which travelled all the way up Alex's arm, making his brain shake.

He didn't even open his eyes. His hand dropped uselessly to the floor, the gun rolled away. Alex felt the last of his remaining strength leave him and he slumped back into the shards of glass, welcoming the blackened silence that followed.

- - - - - -

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_AN: This is my first Alex Rider fic, so I'd be really really grateful of some feedback if people could spare the time! I've only just discovered the books after seeing the recent film Stormbreaker, and I had to write something!_

_So it's that little box there, down on the left. Go on, press it. _


	2. The 'Unsafe' House

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Chapter 2 - The 'Un-safe' House

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The first thing that he heard was the car horn. First it began with one piercing honk in the far distance and then, as his ears picked up more sound, the horns rose into a cacophony of noise.

Alex felt himself regaining consciousness steadily. He next felt cold hard stone on the underside of his face and he realised that he must be lying face down on a sidewalk or a pavement before he even opened his eyes.

_Why am I facedown on the pavement?_

Gingerly, he squinted.

The first thing that he saw was a brick wall; two walls in fact, making an alleyway. Alex blinked once, twice, and then opened his eyes fully. He lifted his arms up and pushed himself up into a sitting position. The blur of horns told him that there must be a main road nearby.

Alex's head throbbed suddenly, making him bring a hand up to his temple. As he did, he felt a large lump on his head; a lump that had definitely not been there before. Had it perhaps been caused by the most recent fight with the attacker?

And then it overwhelmed him with the sudden intensity of a high-speed train; panic. _Where the hell am I?_

Alex stood up suddenly. He expected to feel pain where the bullet had caught him, perhaps even to have to stem the flow of blood, but there was nothing. He lifted up the front of his shirt, not one he recognised, and examined his left hip. No blood. No pain. Nothing to show he had even been shot … except what appeared to be a very small dent in his side. He ran his fingers over it; it was old, healed for years.

As he twisted around to examine the other hip, in case for some bizarre reason he had gotten the wrong side of his body, he felt a sharp pain in his other shoulder. Alex felt underneath the damp foreign shirt again and cold fear flooded the pit of his stomach; there was an unmistakable puckered hole, white and scarred, long since healed over … caused by a bullet.

Alex withdrew his hand quickly and shook his head. Perhaps this was some sort of bizarre dream. Perhaps he had been knocked silly by the fight …

A harsh guttural voice spoke from behind him. Alex spun around, arms up, ready to defend himself; dream or not. There was a dark skinned man with an apron on. At first Alex couldn't recognise what he was saying. Then he realised that the man was speaking in Japanese.

Alex had never been taught the language properly, but he could sense that the man was asking what he was doing.

Alex backed away, clearing his throat, as though he hadn't used his voice for many years.

"Comen de sai," he muttered, moving down the alley. His Japanese was poor and he had meant to say that he was sorry, but a much more logical question occurred to him: _Japanese? What the hell?_

And then, as he came out of the end of the alleyway and into the main street, his question was answered. The reason the man had spoken in Japanese was because he was in Japan.

- - - - -

Alex leant against the wall and retched, the panic finally escalating into severe nausea. How long had he been unconscious for? Had somebody somehow managed to bundle him into a plane and dump him in some foreign country? Why? And how had he not realised?

He wiped his mouth and rubbed his head, which was now throbbing continuously. He had not examined the strange, seemingly old injuries, thinking it would only panic him more. _Deal with the most important thing. How did I get here?_

Alex moved out into the street and was met by the blaring of horns and the harsh light of the car headlamps. The light and noise hurt his senses; he had to squint and bow his head. Japanese people rushed past him, going about their daily lives, not a care in the world that a fourteen year old British spy had somehow found himself in their midst. It was a language Alex had never perfected; he couldn't ask them anything.

A payphone loomed up in front of him. A small bubble of hope expanded in his chest and he hurried forwards inside it, his hands shaking. He then realised, rather foolishly, that he did not have any change. Looking up, he glanced around the glass box he was encased in with the phone; there were stickers everywhere, most of them non-official with scantily clad Japanese girls smiling seductively down, but one sticker on the front of the phone looked vaguely certified and, as was his luck, had English printed next to the Japanese numbers. Operator – 887. A reverse charge call was his only luck.

But who to call? American Jack Starbright, his legal guardian and best friend? How would she be able to get him back to England? She had not much more money than Alex did and anyhow she probably wouldn't be panicking yet, as Alex had disappeared many times before on MI6 missions. This wouldn't seem out of the ordinary to her. But it _was _out of the ordinary. Something was terribly wrong, and Alex knew it.

_The bank,_ he thought. The Royal and General Bank in London, masquerading as MI6 Headquarters. He had memorised the number for the official desk many moons ago after a number of occasions when he had needed to get in contact with them on missions and could only do so with gadgets and equipment they had given him. The wondered fleetingly if there would be anyone there; it was light in Japan, albeit dimly, but then that must surely mean it would be night time in England. He doubted, however, whether MI6 ever slept.

The voice on the end of the Operator line was, unsurprisingly, Japanese. Alex only hoped that English was an accepted language in the operator office.

"Er … reverse charge call, please," he said.

There was a pause and, with a very heavy accent, a man on the end of the line said, "The number, please."

Alex gave it. There was another long pause.

"Your call accepted, Sir. Connecting now …"

There was a series of clicks and then a whirring. There was then a bleeping; the phone was ringing.

Alex heard, with a sinking feeling, the sound of the answer-machine picking up his message.

"This is the Royal and General Bank. Unfortunately, the bank is now closed for the day. Please leave your details after the tone and one of our office assistants shall return your call first thing in the morning."

There was a beep. Alex felt hopelessly close to tears. What was he supposed to do? Was there some kind of coded message he needed to give? A password to prove he knew that he was really phoning MI6?

With one last effort in the hope that there was someone there, he spoke into the mouthpiece.

"Hello? I … I need to speak to Mr Blunt …"

Nothing.

Alex cleared his throat. "Look … if there's someone there, this is an emergency."

Still nothing.

"Please … please if someone's there … pick up … I need Alan Blunt or Mrs Jones …"

Then a sudden click made Alex jump. Someone had picked up!

A cool female voice spoke at the other end of the line. "MI6 HQ, with whom am I speaking?"

"Alex Rider … I'm a spy, please, can you let me talk to someone? It's really important –"

"– what did you say your name was?" said the female, a little too sharply, cutting him off.

"Rider, Alex Rider," said Alex a little impatiently. What part of emergency did they not understand? "Look, just get me Mr Blunt, please!"

The phone went quiet.

- - - - -

In the Special Operations Division of MI6, Mrs Jones was reading a report so quickly that her eyes appeared blurred. She wanted to finish it as soon as possible so that she could get home and get some sleep before an important de-briefing the next day. She often felt that she spent too much time in the office.

She leant back, finishing her peppermint, and began to file the report away when there was a knock at the door. Without waiting for a reply, the young receptionist burst through.

"Becky, this is a very late call," Mrs Jones said wearily. "Shouldn't there have been a shift change by now?"

The receptionist was a little pale.

"Mrs Jones … is Mr Blunt here? He's not in his office …"

"No," said Mrs Jones, shaking her head. "He left about an hour ago; he has got a briefing in Kent tomorrow morning. Why?"

The receptionist swallowed. "There's … there's a call for him. I think you should take it right away."

"Oh, not now, Becky. It's late, I'm tired. Take the number and I'll call them tomorrow –"

"– No, really, Mrs Jones … I think you should take it. There's a boy on the line. He says his name is Alex Rider."

Mrs Jones swallowed the peppermint whole in her surprise.

"What?" she said, blinking.

"Someone who says his name is Alex Rider. Isn't that the boy who –"

"– Are you sure that's the name that they gave? Are you _absolutely _certain?"

Becky frowned slightly. "Yes, Mrs Jones, I'm sure. I've got him on the line right now."

Mrs Jones lowered her eyes to the desk.

"That's not possible," she whispered. "It's just not …"

There was a moment's silence. The receptionist appeared uncomfortable and finally broke the tension caused by her sudden announcement.

"Shall … shall I put him through, then, Mrs Jones?"

Mrs Jones appeared lost in her own thoughts for a few seconds before she cleared her throat and straightened her hair down.

"Yes."

- - - - -

Alex had relaxed slightly. All he wanted to hear was an adult voice that he knew telling him what on earth had happened and that it would all be explained and sorted, and not to panic.

He ran his hands through his hair, waiting for the line to pick up again. He stopped suddenly. His hair was longer, much longer. Was he imagining things?

"Alex?" came Mrs Jones's voice from the end of the phone.

Alex had never been so pleased to hear her voice in his life. Before, when she had been trying to persuade him to undertake dangerous missions for MI6, he had loathed her telling him the details. Now, he thought that if she were standing in front of him, he would have hugged her.

"Yes, it's me!" he said quickly, clutching the phone so tightly that his knuckles had gone white. "Mrs Jones … I've just woken up in Tokyo in Japan … there was an attack at my house … I don't remember …"

"State your agent identity number for me, Alex," she said brusquely. Her voice gave nothing away; it didn't even appear to be affected by his panicked tone or his explanation.'

The identity number she was asking him for was a number given to all MI6 field operational agents when they are inducted into the service. It was a number that only the agent and the handler know, often used for purposes of identifying whether an agent is the agent they are claiming to be. Since Alex had never been classed as an 'official' operative, he had never been assigned to a specific handler. Therefore, it had been Mrs Jones who had given him his identity number. Alex couldn't think of why she would ask him for this now.

"Agent number 8C0J 5643," he said, a little uncertainly. "Mrs Jones, what's going on? Do you know what happened … why do you want –?"

"– You must proceed to an MI6 safe house, number 13. The location is Goya Street in down-town Tokyo; take a cab. Wait for us there. Someone will be on a plane in fifteen minutes and there as soon as possible. Do you understand, Alex?"

Alex was momentarily stumped. No explanation, no sympathetic or friendly voice telling him it was OK. Just an address … and what he thought was an unnecessary level of caution on Mrs Jones's part.

"Yes," he said. "Look, what's going on? What's –"

The line went dead. Alex was left holding a beeping phone. He stood for a moment, gathering his thoughts, not even trusting his own instincts. He left the phone box to hail a cab.

- - - - -

The cab driver had trouble understanding his accent, though recognised the word 'Goya'. Alex had no idea how long the drive would take; Tokyo was a huge place. He settled himself in the back seat and put his head in his hands.

Everything about him was different; he hadn't seen a mirror and had been too preoccupied with everything else since, but now he knew, without having any sort of explanation of _why_, that his hair was longer, he was much taller and he had a great deal of unexplained injuries that had definitely _not_ been there before.

Why could he not remember? Had he perhaps been unconscious for longer than he thought? Had someone else come into the house after he had blacked out? Maybe the man he had shot wasn't dead after all!

Wilder and wilder explanations formed inside his mind and he didn't even notice when the cab slowed down in Goya Street. Another startling thought occurred to him; he had no money. How on earth was he supposed to pay the cab driver?

But no sooner had the cold panic flooded through his body, somebody was flagging the cab down from the sidewalk. As they slowed even more, Alex saw that the man was standing outside number 13; the number Mrs Jones had said the safe house was: she must have phoned ahead and let them know that he was on his way.

Without a word, the man outside the building in the street handed the cab driver a wad of cash and opened Alex's door for him to get out. Alex got out of the cab warily; normally he would have been much more careful in a foreign country with a man he had never met, but these were serious circumstances.

The cab driver drove off, leaving Alex standing with nothing but the clothes on his back, and even they were not his.

"Alex Rider?" was all the man said. He was Japanese in every way, and yet had a perfect English accent.

Alex nodded. "Who are you?" he asked. He didn't care very much about being rude; he didn't care very much about anything anymore.

"My name is Simon Wong. I am in charge of this safe house. As the name suggests, you will be safe here. I am told that representatives from MI6 will be here first thing in the morning to take you home."

Alex blinked. "As simple as that?" he said.

The man named Wong nodded.

"Do you know what's going on? What happened to me?"

Simon Wong put his hands on Alex's shoulders, steering him inside the building. "Let us not discuss these matters outside; it is unwise to linger in doorways in these dangerous times."

As soon as they were inside and the door was closed, Wong turned to him. "I do not know anything about your situation; I am merely an employee of MI6 in Tokyo, here to keep agents who have strayed off their path safe until they are fetched. Please," he said, gesturing up the stairs. "Room 11 is ready for you. Get some rest and refreshments will be brought up."

Then he turned and disappeared through a door built into the wall. Alex stared at it fought down another urge to vomit. He felt feverish and suddenly very cold.

The stairs were very rickety; Alex wondered dimly how old this safe house was and how many spies it had housed who had, as Wong put it, 'lost their way'.

Alex felt as though he had lost considerably more than his way. He felt like he had lost his mind; lost his life. He had only been conscious for over a couple of hours and he already felt miles and miles away from his life, more than literally.

When he pushed the door open, he found the room to be extremely basic with rotting wooden panels running along the walls. There was one bed with no sheets, a cracked mirror, a dirty sink built into the wall with a dripping tap, an armchair with the stuffing hanging out of one side and a boarded up window.

Alex exhaled shakily. He ran a hand through his dirty hair, millions of thoughts and questions zooming uncontrollably around in his hair, and unconsciously gripped his shoulder where he had found the healed wound he did not remember receiving. Alex sat on the sheet-less bed, and then turned onto his side and lay down, curling his legs underneath him.

- - - - -

Alex was woken from a restless sleep from a harsh knocking on his broken door. The person on the other side did not wait for an invitation; as Alex sat up on the dirty bed and rubbed his weary eyes, the door opened. It was Mr Wong.

"A representative from MI6 is here, Mr Rider. I will leave you to it."

Alex stood up slowly; he must have slept through the night if someone was here to take him home as it must have taken them a good ten hours flight.

Mr Wong stood back and someone came into the room. It was someone Alex knew. Dark hair fell over a well chiselled face with black eyes and a broken nose.

"Wolf!" Alex said with a start. He hadn't expected to see him, but then again, he didn't know that he was expecting anything.

"Hey, Cub."

Wolf's face was dark; his eyes were hiding something and he did not smile when he saw Alex. He was wearing a very bemused expression that was also wary, as though he couldn't quite believe that he was looking at the fourteen year old boy.

Alex, losing all pretence, moved forwards and hugged the older man, disregarding all that had happened between them. It was so good to see a familiar face, a face that would hopefully explain all of this to him and take him back to what he knew. Wolf did not hug him back, but stood there stiffly.

"What the hell is going on?" Alex said, drawing back. "Do you know what's happened to me? Are you taking me home?"

Wolf blinked. He seemed to be weighing his words very carefully.

"Alex …"

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Alex said sharply. This didn't add up; first Mrs Jones, and now Wolf. Both were treating him as though he were a ghost. Now he thought about it … why send Wolf?

When Wolf did not answer his question, Alex pressed the matter, aware that something was not right about this exchange.

"Why did they send you? Last I heard, you went off to Iraq with the SAS … what are you doing as a rep for MI6?"

Wolf looked down at the floor. "They sent me because … because you know me. They thought it would be better if it was … if it was a familiar face."

Alex frowned. This didn't add up.

"A familiar face? What for?"

"Cub, I think you need to sit down for a moment –"

But Alex held up his hands. Wolf had made no movement towards him but all of a sudden he felt as though something was advancing on him.

"– no, I don't need to sit down. I need to know what the bloody hell's happened. You obviously know something. Stop treating me like a kid, I'm not a child."

A shadow of a smile flittered across Wolf's face, but then it was gone. "No, I can see that for myself."

Alex had his back pressed against the wall. There was something about Wolf that was different.

"Wolf … you've never had your ear pierced … why are you wearing an earring?"

"Alex –"

But Alex continued to look suspicious.

"If you don't tell me what's happened, I'm going to walk out here and find my own way back –"

"You've been missing, Cub."

Alex stared at him. "Missing? What do you mean?"

Wolf let out a breath and looked back at Alex. "There was a fight at your house …"

"Yeah I know, funnily enough, you mean the one that happened last night?" Alex said sarcastically.

Wolf shook his head. He looked sad. "No, Alex. I mean the one that happened two and a half years ago."

"But –"

Alex stopped himself. He couldn't form a sentence for a moment.

"Are you talking about a different attack? There wasn't a fight in my house two years ago … I didn't even know about MI6 two years ago … my uncle was alive two years ago!"

"No, Cub. Someone broke into your house and waited for you to come home; they meant to take you away, but they didn't expect you to fight back so well … you were shot, Alex. In the hip."

Alex opened his mouth and closed it. "Yeah … yeah, last night … that happened last night …"

"No, Alex. It happened two years ago."

Alex sat down on the bed very suddenly. His head was swimming. There were things that he couldn't explain; his injuries, his longer hair, why he was in Japan … but he knew one thing; Wolf was lying. Something was wrong.

He had to get out of this place. And he had to do it now.

- - - - -

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**A/N: **_Hehe, so the story unravels! Or as they say, the plot thickens. I say it thickens because there is (obviously) more to come. And you'll find out if you review!_


	3. Fragments

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Chapter 3 – Fragments

"Cub?"

Wolf was looking at Alex with a mixed expression of pity and wariness. Alex could feel his eyes upon him.

Wolf seemed to take Alex's silence as a refusal of the information he had just given him, and moved forwards slightly to put a hand on his shoulder.

Alex tensed as the man's hand rested on his recently injured joint … none of this made sense … and yet the man standing here in front of him telling him all these lies … it was not Wolf. He was sure of that.

"So … er … what have you got to do?" Alex muttered, playing for time. "What have they told you to –?"

"They've told me to bring you back in. Mrs Jones wants to do some evaluation on you … check that you're … well, you know how it is."

Alex nodded bleakly. "This … this is going to take me a while."

Wolf nodded understandingly. "I know. For the record, Alex, this is … mad. I'm not supposed to talk about it until you've been cleared but … I thought you were _dead, _kid. I mean _really_ dead. And now you're standing here looking like a man when I last saw you as a little twerp …"

Alex ignored him. Instead, he wandered over to the boarded up window and peered through the smallest of cracks at the dark Japanese sky outside; he could see skyscrapers and red flashing taillights of cars beyond … the world going about its business as normal. But here he was …

"This is a hell of a way to wake up," Alex said with a stab at sarcasm, hoping to put Wolf off-guard.

"Look … I know this isn't making sense," Wolf continued, and Alex could hear his footsteps coming closer from behind. "But I'm sure we can find some kind of explanation … if anyone can find out about what happened, then it's SIS."

He stopped directly behind of Alex, who was tensed and ready.

"I'll stay if you need me too … once you get back, if you need a familiar face –"

And then he placed his hand on Alex's back. In an instant, Alex had spun around and grabbed Wolf's loose and unprepared arm, wrenching it sideways and leaning his own weight into the man who was no longer bigger than him. Moments later, Wolf was pinned to the floor with his arm around his back, grunting in pain.

"Alex … what the _hell_ are you doing?"

"You think I'm stupid?" Alex hissed, pulling the arm in his grasp tighter so that Wolf winced in discomfort. "You think I was asleep all that time I spent at Doctor Grief's place? I _know_ about the doubling experiments! They doubled me for Christ's sake!"

"Alex, _don't _–"

"This is a trick, isn't it? This is some mad joke sent by someone I screwed over to play with my mind! They doubled _you_, didn't they? TELL ME!"

And he slammed Wolf's body down hard so that his face hit the floor.

"I bet the real Wolf's dead … I bet you killed him. Come here to finish the job, have you?"

Wolf spluttered and spat out blood from his mouth as he strained to pull his arm from Alex's grasp, but Alex was too strong for him.

"I swear it's _me … _just let go and I'll explain!"

"No!"

There was noise coming from the corridor. Some people within the safe house must have heard the disturbance coming from Alex's room and were coming to see what the matter was. He had no choice now, but to run.

With a vicious snap of his elbow, Alex crashed the man who looked like Wolf over the side of the head and sent him sprawling into the ground once more. With that, he sprang up from his crouching position and fled into the corridor.

With a sharp glance to his right he saw two Japanese men running towards him, large automatic weapons in their hands. Alex turned and ran the other way, towards a larger corridor where he had room to run. But as he began to sprint towards the door at the end of the wider corridor, it opened and he saw another man blocking his way.

Slowly, Alex raised his arms in submission and made to go onto his knees. But instead, when the nearest man got close enough to reach out and try to take his arms, Alex leapt up and barrelled the man into the other guard with the gun. Both went sprawling into the wall, and using this time to his advantage Alex kicked out at the third guard and made contact with a large, overly fed gut.

Scrambling over them, Alex's hand grazed the handle of the door, now slightly ajar, but as he did so he felt a burning sting in his neck. Slowly, as though his motor functions had instantly stopped, Alex felt for the point of contact, his fingers brushing a long and heavy tranquilizer dart. He knew there was no point in pulling it out of his neck; he could already feel its effects working their way through his exhausted body. As he sank to his knees, he looked up to see Wolf moving carefully towards him from further away, dart gun still raised, and past the three guards, all of whom were standing well back but with their firearms raised in caution.

Alex felt his brain go foggy.

"Don't …" was all he could say as Wolf got closer. He couldn't even shake his head in defiance.

Wolf knelt down in front of him. Alex tried to raise his heavy arms to push him away, but he couldn't do it. They felt like lead.

"_Please … _don't …"

But he couldn't even sit up straight. He was forced to sink forwards towards Wolf, who was sporting a bloody lip and a soon-to-be black eye. Alex's consciousness deserted him, and so he didn't realise that Wolf held him quietly in his arms like a child for several minutes before raising him to his feet and carrying him to a secure plane.

- - - - -

There was something over his head … it looked like a skylight in the darkness, lit by a bright white light … fat pigeons jiggered restlessly on the ledge of a windowsill … the light was too bright. Alex tried to squint his eyes shut before realising that they were already closed. Slowly he felt himself waking from a very deep sleep and into reality once more.

White, surgical sheets; the faintly sick smell of disinfectant; bleeping from distant machines … and someone sitting next to him.

"Alex?"

He opened his scratchy eyes. It was Mrs Jones.

Alex blinked and took a deep breath. She looked different … older. There were thin framed glasses perched on the end of her nose and her hair was liberally streaked with grey, but one thing had not changed; she was still chewing a peppermint. Alex shook his head slightly, as though trying to clear water from his ears.

"Hi," he said. It was all he could think of to say.

"It's good to see that you're awake … that dart packed quite a lot of sedative. Our operative was hoping he wouldn't have to use it."

Alex sat up slightly in the soft bed.

"Where am I?"

"We're back in London. You're in an MI6 military hospital; you're perfectly safe. You were unconscious on the plane and have been for twenty-four hours. We needed to do some tests first …"

"What tests?" Alex asked suspiciously, peering into her not-so-familiar eyes.

"Blood tests, swabs … general verification that you are who … well, that you are _you._"

"And why would I not be?" Alex asked a little defensively. "And while we're on the subject –"

" – Alex, I know what you are about to ask, and there's no easy way to say this … but the man who came to retrieve you from Hong Kong _was _the operative you knew as Wolf. He wasn't doubled, and what he told you was the entire truth. You have been missing for two years. We thought that you were dead."

Alex opened his mouth and closed it again.

"I know this is going to take you some time," Mrs Jones began, but Alex shook his head dismissively.

"I think we're well past that," he said curtly. "Mrs Jones … what the hell happened to me?"

"Alex –"

"The last thing that I can remember is that fight in my house … it feels like it was one night ago!" All of a sudden, he was talking very quickly and in a panicked tone. "I mean … _how _… you're telling me that _two _years have just _gone _and that I need to be patient and rest … but I just … I have scars all over me that I've never seen before … I'm different – and why was I in Hong Kong? I've never been there before –"

"– I know you must have a hundred questions to ask, but –"

"I have _more _than a hundred bloody questions … I wish I _only _wanted to know a hundred answers!"

"Don't get upset, Alex, we're just as baffled as you are. I went to your funeral myself, and I can't begin to –"

"My _funeral?_"

Mrs Jones took her small glasses off the bridge of her nose and rubbed her eyes.

"Alex … I can't imagine what this is like. All I can compare it to is my own astonishment. We will try and sort everything out for you in the mean time and I personally –"

"–Where's Jack?" Alex asked suddenly. A strong urge to have someone he knew and loved wrap their arms around him and tell him that it would be alright was overcoming him powerfully.

Mrs Jones blinked and looked at her hands.

"She was deported six months after you left. She put up no fight – there was no reason for her to stay here …"

Hot tears burned uncontrollably in Alex's eyes. He blinked and looked away. Mrs Jones put an unconvincing hand on the edge of the bedspread.

"The best thing you can do right now is _rest. _Try and get some of that memory back … see if you can find any answers in your head. God knows it must be in there somewhere – you _have_ been alive for those two years at least … perhaps you can fill in the blanks for us."

Alex didn't even bother to nod. He didn't even notice a man in a blue suit open the door and whisper in Mrs Jones's ear. She nodded swiftly and was on her feet.

"Excuse me for a minute, Alex. Something important has just come up."

She left the room with the suited man and Alex turned his head to watch her go. They stopped just outside his room and closed the door, but Alex could see their lips moving through the glass. _Fill in the blanks for us. _No one was going to tell him anything. Even though they had verified that he _was _in fact the real Alex Rider, they wouldn't trust him if even _he _didn't know where he had been for the last two years. And he could see why. In that case, he was going to have to find out for himself.

- - - - -

Emily Blackburn had only been working in the MI6 hospital for two weeks. It had made her feel proud to be serving her country by looking after people, but she was still at the bottom of the chain, which meant monitoring people through the night. One of the people on her list was an attractive young man with tousled blond hair and a deep sadness in his face. She was not allowed to talk to him; it clearly said on his chart,_ Security Risk – alert member of staff in case of alarming behaviour._ Despite this, she couldn't help but stop by his bed and watch him on her way to the Dai Llewellyn Ward.

He seemed to be deeply asleep, that was for sure, but he was clearly having a terrible nightmare. His head was tossing from side to side and his eyes were screwed up in pain, perhaps, or fear. She moved a little closer and kept an eye on his vitals … nothing out of the ordinary. And then he woke up with a start.

As his blue wide eyes took her in, she took a hasty step back as he sat up, breathing heavily.

"Are you alright?" she asked stupidly.

The boy, whose name on her chart was Alex Rider, wiped his sweating face and shook his head.

"I need to speak to someone … Mrs Jones, or Mr Blunt!"

"I'm sorry, sir, but it's not permitted to –"

"– You don't understand, this is really important … I …"

Emily did not know what to do. She was not supposed to talk to him, or react in any way, but he seemed so desperate.

"Please …" he continued, looking at her imploringly. "I've just had … a nightmare, I mean a memory! I … think I know where I was! I think I know what happened to me!"

Emily frowned, and then made up her mind. Turning her back on the boy, she went to the nearest phone and dialled the number.

- - - - -

* * *


	4. Leverage

**Chapter 4 – Leverage**

Alan Blunt had not changed. If anything, his face looked even greyer than it had done before to Alex; his expression still remained as stony as ever, like he needed to hear a really good joke for it to crack. He was chewing on a pen, his eyes impassively surveying Alex as he stood in front of him.

"Alex. It's good to see you ... alive."

Alex said nothing, taking the chance to glance at Mrs Jones who stood by his side and who was also accompanied by a short, balding man that Alex had not seen before, and whom he did not question as he had been taken very swiftly out of the secure military hospital and practically shoved through the front door of MI6 Headquarters.

"Mrs Jones tells me that you have regained your memory."

"No," said Alex immediately. "Well, I mean, _yes, _but only bits of it."

"Which bits, exactly?" said the large man next to Mrs Jones with a slight bite of impatience to his voice.

"I ... I remember hearing the name Weisman ... and I'm sure I recognised some faces from the Scorpia training camp that I went to last month – or, two years ago now..."

"Alex, do you think you were held captive at a Scorpia base? You believe that it was them that abducted you?" said Mrs Jones briskly.

"Yes," said Alex stoutly.

There was a silence that stretched on for a few minutes. Alex brushed his tousled hair impatiently out of his eyes and looked around at them all.

"So come on, then, what's next?" said Alex, betraying the urgency he felt in his voice.

"The reason we brought you here so quickly, Alex, is that we think you might be able to help us," said Mrs Jones.

"What –"

"You mentioned the name Weisman," supplied the other man. He moved forwards and held out his hand to Alex, who shook it uncertainly. "My name is Harold Shutter. I'm the director of SOCA."

Alex opened his mouth to ask what that was, but Shutter answered before he could speak.

"Serious Organised Crime Agency, boy. We are in charge of an operation to frustrate the proliferation of weapons of mass destruction, but MI6 has ... _insisted _that they be involved. And as you appear to have certain information available in your brain, we need to know what that is in order to move forward."

Mrs Jones cast Shutter a disdainful look. "We know all you want to do is to find out what happened to you, Alex, but we're in the middle of an immensely important operation – and it might all be linked. You see, Weisman is one of ours. He had recently acquired a very important electronic chip from one of the Scorpia agents ... on this chip are the schematics for an undetectable spy-drone that, both MI6 and SOCA believe, can be used as a bio-weapon delivery system."

Alex took in this information and nodded. Blunt was looking down at the notes on his desk.

"The thing is," Mrs Jones went on, "is that if you were held at a Scorpia base and heard the name Weisman, then it's probable that Scorpia are on to him, and will take the chip."

"I'm guessing that's a bad thing, huh," said Alex.

Shutter gave a humourless snort.

"I remember them talking about a chip," said Alex. "Something about delivering bio-weapons ... and definitely Weisman's name. I heard them talking about the Grossmunster Cathedral, which is in Switzerland, and they kept speaking in French, so I think I could have been held there. Other things keep coming into my head but they're all blurry –"

"We're going to send a team to protect Weisman shortly, in case he is discovered and the chip is lost. I want _you _to go with them," said Shutter.

Mrs Jones frowned. "I'm not sure that's a good idea," she said immediately. "Alex has been through a very traumatic deal –"

"– and whilst that's all very upsetting, I think national security is slightly more important than upsetting a seventeen year old, particularly when that seventeen year old could remember something else important –"

"– SOCA will _not _be allowed to abuse Alex Rider to make them look good!" said Mrs Jones with gusto. Whilst Alex was bolstered to hear her defending him, he also thought it was a bit rich coming from MI6, who had certainly abused him to make their own ends various times.

The telephone rang suddenly, breaking the fizzing tension crackling in Blunt's office between the two agencies. Blunt picked up the receiver slowly.

"Yes?"

There was a pause, and Alex could tell, even from Blunt's static expressions, that something was wrong.

"Thank you," he said, and put the phone down. "Weisman is dead."

Mrs Jones gasped audibly.

"He was on the train to Switzerland transporting the chip to the safehouse in Valais, when he was ambushed by seven Scorpia agents. They killed him and everyone on the train. There were some ... women and children on board. Twenty-two fatalities."

Alex felt his throat go dry.

"Alan ... we need that chip," said Mrs Jones, almost forgetting, it seemed, that Alex and Shutter were there.

"I agree," replied Blunt, looking troubled. "I want to send a team of operational officers to Valais. A source on the border said Scorpia vanished towards the small airport, so they may have a base in the hanger. I want to recover it."

"Then I think it's pretty clear that Rider has to go too, don't you agree?" said Shutter quickly.

"Mr Shutter –" began Mrs Jones, but she was cut off.

"– listen. This was _our _operation in the beginning, but then you came in and shared it out between you and MI5, and I'm not letting you guys take all the glory. I want an agent of SOCA in there too, and Rider _has _to go. He might remember something while he's there."

"But he's not ready! We've wrenched him out of hospital, I'm not even sure of his – his mental stability," she added in a quieter voice, as though worried Alex would take this the wrong way.

"I want to go," said Alex unexpectedly.

"Alex ..." Mrs Jones said in what she evidently considered as a gentle tone. "You don't have to go ... this will be very dangerous. Weisman is the sixth MI6 operative to be killed when in possession of the chip. I'm not sure you could take it mentally if you ran into Scorpia ..."

"I want to find out what happened to me," said Alex firmly. "And if I can help recover this chip in the process of doing it, then I need to go."

"But ..."

"I can't go on like this, Mrs Jones. I can't not know. And it's not like you haven't sent me to do things like this before," he added a little sharply.

"This is completely different. Alan, back me up here, he can't possibly be in a fit state to accompany the team, it wouldn't be –"

"You will leave in the morning, Mr Rider," said Blunt with an air of finality.

Mrs Jones held up her hands in exasperation.

"I'll go," said Alex, "and I'll be glad to help, but you have to do something for me in return."

There was a silence. Everyone was looking at him as though it was the last thing in the world that they expected him to say.

"I want Jack back."

Mrs Jones's eyes widened, but it was Shutter who answered.

"Miss Starbright was deported on the grounds of being a nuisance to Britain's Security Services. She was cautioned for time wasting and obsessive behaviour. There is absolutely no chance of her returning to England."

"Mr Shutter oversaw her deportation," muttered Mr Blunt to Alex.

"Well then, you can whistle for me on this operation."

"Mr Rider ... you do not call the shots. Starbright will not have her visa accepted in a hundred years with that track record. Your – death – completely unbalanced her and she became a danger."

"A _danger_? I don't know who you're talking about, Mr Shutter, but it isn't Jack. And if you won't even let her talk to me, then I think I've said all I'm going to say. I won't contact you if I remember anything else."

And with that, Alex made for the door.

"Wait!" exclaimed Shutter. Alex smiled inwardly at the panic in the fat man's voice, and turned to face him with a mild expression.

"All right – she'll be on the next flight over. But she's not staying, Rider. You may speak with her in a controlled environment, but that is all."

Alex nodded. "Thank you."

Blunt stood up suddenly. "Well, if we're all done with bargaining, you can go and get ready for tomorrow, Alex. You'll be leaving at lunchtime. Smithers will bring you up to date on the team and what weapon's you'll be given. In the meantime, Mrs Jones will show you to your flat."

"My flat?" repeated Alex.

"Yes, your house was sold after your funeral and after Miss Starbright left for the USA. I have arranged for a first floor flat in Kensington to be let to you for the time being."

Alex nodded, his heart beating very fast. Shutter left the room first, giving Alex a cold look and barely a nod to Mrs Jones.

- - - - - - -

Alex sat on a stool in a white-walled room in the basement of MI6. He was waiting for Jack, who would be arriving that evening for an hour. He couldn't understand what Shutter could have meant. _Your death completely unbalanced her, and she became a danger ..._ a danger to whom? Why would she have behaved in a way that got her a caution for wasting the Security Service's time?

There was a suited guard at the back of the room, but Alex ignored him. Within a few minutes of his arriving, the door opened and Jack Starbright entered with another guard at her arm.

"Jack!" Alex exclaimed, standing up.

Jack shook off her guard with disdain and stared into Alex's face.

"Alex ... is that really you?"

And they rushed forward simultaneously and hugged.

"Oh god ... I thought I'd lost you ... I couldn't bear it when they took me away ..."

"But why did they?" said Alex as he drew back. "Why did they take you away?"

Jack looked around at the two guards at each end of the room and gave Alex a meaningful look.

"You can give us a minute," said Alex.

Both guards looked uncertain, but Alex's expression remained authoritative and they slowly filed out.

"Alex, listen –" Jack began eagerly as they were left alone, but Alex held up a hand immediately to silence her. Slowly from his pocket, he took out what looked like a small silver watch and clicked the top of it with a small beeping sound.

"It's an atmosphere destabiliser, they'd be listening in. I got it off Smithers, we have a minute."

"Oh, Alex ... they took me away because I found something out ... I was trying to get them investigating your death further, but they said they wouldn't ... there was a fire at your house and they found some remains ... the DNA matched as yours ... that's why we had a funeral. They'd closed it ... but I knew you were alive!"

"What?" said Alex, astonished. "How did you know?"

"I don't have time to explain now ... but I couldn't show MI6 the evidence I had –"

"–Why not?"

"Because I didn't know what they'd do ... they could have used it against you. So I broke into their offices and tried to use their systems and records to find something – that's when they arrested me. Some wanker from SUCKA or something ..."

"SOCA. You mean Shutter? They said he oversaw your deportation –"

"- Yes, him, he made damn sure I couldn't find anything else out and shipped me back home ... I'm even watched there, I'm on a caution ..."

Alex shook his head. What were they in the middle of here?

"What are you going to do, Alex? I heard the guards talking about you in the van ... they said you were getting your memory back? That's good, isn't it?"

But Alex's blank, terrified face said it all.

"Jack ... I don't remember _anything _at all!"

"_What!"_

"I saw Mrs Jones and another man talking outside my room ... I lip-read what they said through the glass about someone called Weisman and Scorpia in Switzerland ... I just made it up as I went along in Blunt's office so they would believe me!"

"But why?"

"So I could see you!" Alex said, and suddenly he felt like a little boy again, unable to stop the tears, and realising that all his clever actions were in aid of finding someone who would comfort him, who would tell him what to do ... an _adult._

"I can't do this Jack, I can't remember anything ... everything's different and I don't have a home, I don't go to school ... I –"

"Alex, you need to get back in. You need to get their trust. That's the only way you're going to find out what's happened to you! Don't you see? You need them on your side ..."

The watch beeped quietly, but they both heard it, and realised that their time of being unheard was over.

Alex straightened up and wiped his face.

"You probably know this," said Jack firmly. "But I love you."

Alex smiled, shaking his head slightly, as though trying to wake himself up again.

"I love you, too," he said as the guards came in. "And I'm going to figure this out. I promise you."

"I know you will," she said, and allowed them to take her out. Alex waited alone in the room for a moment longer, before shutting the door behind him and following his silent companion out into the sunlight.

- - - - - - - -


	5. The Valais Massacre

**Chapter 5 – The Valais Massacre**

**- - - - - - - **

"ETA in approximately nine minutes," came a voice from the front of the small airplane. Alex was sitting in the back, his heart beating extremely fast, the roaring of the engine in his ears not enough to distract him from the thought that this idea was going to go horribly wrong.

Wolf was sitting next to him and had not said anything about their encounter in Tokyo – when Alex had accused him of being a double agent. Alex supposed his silence was a mixture of playing by the military rules he so strictly adhered to and from not wanting to upset Alex again.

"Wolf?" said Alex over the noise from the plane.

Wolf turned his head.

"I'm sorry about before ... I was just – confused, and I –"

"- You don't have to explain, Alex. Mrs Jones filled me in later. I understand."

The other officers and soldiers on the plane were ignoring them, or else feigning deafness to their conversation. Wolf was with the SAS, of which there were two others on board, there was one SOCA agent, who had the same stony expression as his superior, and four other MI6 operational officers; a team of nine to intercept the chip.

"I heard you've started to remember stuff?" said Wolf, leaning in a little closer to make absolutely sure they weren't heard by the rest.

Alex nodded, but said nothing. He thought if he spoke he might betray the truth.

"That's OK ... I know the drill, sensitive information and all that. But you're here to help, right?"

"That's right."

"Well, if you recognise anything about the hanger, if you recognise any faces or names we see, you go tell Matheson," and he pointed to a sharp nosed man sitting right by the jump-out exit. He was older than the rest and had many lines on his face.

"MI6 is in charge of the operation, whatever SOCA might think," he added with an uncharacteristically ugly look towards the one SOCA representative, "He's the team leader. So you make sure he knows what you know."

"Right," said Alex, keeping his eyes on Matheson.

"Exit jumps in thirty seconds," said the disembodied pilot's voice.

Everyone on the plane got to their feet and checked their parachutes. Alex tugged firmly on his release rope, checking it was in proper working order. His breathing quickened as he stepped towards the exit and the swirling wind. The sky over Valais was black, studded with the occasional stars, and below he could see the darkened runways of the disused airport below them and watched as the first soldier jumped.

One by one they disappeared out of the plane, and Alex was last. He hesitated for a moment before closing his eyes and plunging down, out of the plane, behind Wolf.

The wind whipped his face and he felt himself free-falling with the speed of a bullet, plunging like a heavy stone dropped into a deep lake. It would be very easy for one to panic at this stage and pull the parachute out, but Alex knew he had to wait a few more seconds, so he could navigate his way safely to the rest of the team.

_Three ... two ... one..._

He pulled the rope and the parachute inflated behind him. He was now able to steer the contraption with his left and right ropes, moving towards the silent team below him.

Alex landed without any trouble and stowed away his parachute in his backpack. Matheson indicated that all should gather around. He held a finder to his lips to initiate silence from all.

"Listen carefully ..." he began in little more than a whisper. "I know we've all been briefed on the objective, but I've faced Scorpia before, and they don't take any prisoners. We all need to be together on this, and that means no tension between departments. Is that clear?"

SOCA, SAS and MI6 operatives all looked at each other, but said nothing.

"Is that _clear_?" repeated Matheson.

There were general nods of assent, and Alex clenched his fists as Matheson turned his attention to wards him.

"Rider, I've been informed that you are here solely for informative purposes. Given your age, I wouldn't have given you a gun, but seeing as it would be like sending you in as a sitting duck without one ... here."

And he handed Alex a Tokarev automatic pistol with a silencer on the end. It was the first time that MI6 had ever willingly supplied him with a weapon like this, and Alex felt the atmosphere change rapidly. He had kept a simple Wolfram PP gun from his last mission – or what was now a mission that occurred two years ago – _how would he ever get used to this?_

"Now I want you to alert me _immediately _if you remember anything about this place. I surely hope you can, because if I'm honest, I think this is a stupid mission."

Silence followed this, and Alex gripped the gun in his hand.

Matheson made a motion with his fingers, to signal that they should follow him into the hanger. All pulled their black hoods over their heads to mask their appearance, and set off towards the darkness of the hanger.

"Base camp, we are on task to enter the hanger. Please advise on current layout," Matheson's voice carried back to Alex from the front as he spoke into his comms device back at MI6 HQ.

Alex heard the answer in his own ear.

"_There appears to be two live bodies in the south back room."_

Alex assumed they were using satellite imagery to confirm this.

Matheson continued, and the team followed. The hanger was certainly disused; it smelt musty and old, with dated signs and peeling paint on the walls. They entered through the main door, and Matheson signalled they split into two groups, one on the left and one on the right, to take the two miscreants in the south room. The team had studied the schematics of the hanger on the plane, and so they knew where the corridors lead.

Alex separated from Wolf and followed an SAS soldier down the east corridor towards the room.

"_Beta team, be advised, the live bodies in the south back room appeared to be unarmed and not moving."_

Alex thought this was odd; if they had moved the chip here, surely it would be guarded by more than two unarmed men? Perhaps not...

They moved slowly in the darkness, remembering turnings and passageways from the building plan, their eyes adjusting to the opaque blackness. It was so quiet Alex could hear the heavy breathing of the man in front.

Alex remembered that the corridor ought to fork left in order to reach the room where the two supposed Scorpian agents were, but it did not. Instead, there was a solid wall in front of them. It looked very new, as though it had only just been finished.

"Matheson ..." said the SAS soldier in front of him into the comm.. "We've hit a wall ... it looks new. I thought this place was disused?"

"_The schematics were four years old," _came the reply, which Alex did not see as very helpful.

"Maybe there's another way into the room?" he suggested.

"Do you remember any of this, kid?" asked the man behind him, peering at him with fear in his eyes. "We could do with an alternate route."

Alex hesitated, feeling a little sick. "No ... no I don't recognise it."

"_Cub ... anything familiar?"_ Alex heard Wolf's voice at the end of the line.

"No," replied Alex, ignoring the frustrated looks from his team. "I don't think I was held in this bit."

The comm in his ear began to crackle. He did not catch Wolf's reply. Then, another channel came on the line – it was the base camp, and everyone heard it.

"_Beta team – there's an excess of hostile activity coming your way ... we count fifteen armed men on their way into the hanger. Get out of there now!"_

Alex did not think there was any other way but back the way they came, straight into their attackers, and there was more disruption to the signal in his ear ... they couldn't catch what the operator was saying.

"We need to split up," Matheson said hurriedly, drawing out his gun and cocking it. "There are too many to take head on. Find somewhere and get the comm working again!"

They ran away from the newly built wall and Alex darted down a darkened corridor the team had bypassed earlier on, following the original blueprints, but they were useless now. Alex heard the rest of the team with him scarper like frantic mice down other corridors, into other rooms, anything to get a vantage point on their attackers.

Alex found the end of the corridor and pushed at a door; it was locked. He took the Tokarev out of its holster and flicked off the safety catch, breathing heavily.

Alex took the comm out of his ear and examined it. There were no loose wires; otherwise it would have been just his that was broken. There seemed to be something disrupting the entire system. _It's probably them, _Alex said to himself, thinking about the attackers.

He jammed the comm back into his ear again.

"Wolf? Matheson?"

Nothing, but the line seemed clear, there was just nobody answering. Alex had expected to hear gunfire; the operator had said their attackers were armed and heading towards them ... that must mean they had known they would be there.

Alex peered through the window on the east side of the corridor. Again, nothing. No sign of moving bodies or rapid gunfire, no one crouching and moving stealthily through the retired aircrafts in the hanger ...

Alex gripped his weapon tightly and discarded the comm. He really needed someone at base camp to use the satellite and tell him the situation, but that was out of the question now. He would have to do it for himself.

The corridor seemed a lot longer walking back up it into the path of Scorpia killers who would doubtlessly show him no quarter, but still he saw no one. He reached the end of the corridor and felt beads of sweat slide down the back of his neck. His heart was beating a violent tattoo against the inside of his chest, feeling like a caged bird.

And then he saw the first body. It was the one and only SOCA agent.

Alex drew back immediately behind the wall, sure the killer was still there, but the corpse was quite alone. Alex dropped down next to the man and saw, with a jolt to his stomach, that his throat had been slit from ear to ear. Alex looked away and held the gun out in front of him, ready to shoot anything, but nothing came.

He moved on, reluctant to leave the body, but there was nothing he could do. There was nothing he could do about the second one either, or Matheson, who he found a few feet down, again with his throat slit.

Alex began to feel sick. This was a complete ambush, and had been absolutely silent. They would surely find him in a matter of seconds and finish the job.

Alex tried the door handle to his left and tried it as quietly as he could – it opened silently.

There was Wolf, slumped against the back wall of the room bathed in a red light, coming from some operating system on the other side of the hanger. And there, in front of him, was an enormous man with nine-inch carving knife. He knelt down in front of Wolf and grabbed his face, pulling the helpless soldier back into consciousness.

Alex realised what was going to happen two seconds before it did, and he did the only thing he could think of.

"Hey!" he shouted, pointing his gun at Wolf's would-be murderer.

The large man spun around and got to his feet incredibly quickly, considering his size, and dropped the knife. Alex saw his face; he was a brutal looking man with a prominent nose and deep blue eyes. Alex knew this was no time to show kindness, and he pulled the trigger.

The Tokarev jolted backwards in his hands with the force, and the bullet missed the Scorpian agent by centimetres, hitting the plaster wall behind him and exploding in a shower of white paint. The man stooped and picked up the knife on the floor as Alex tried to reload the gun –

The next moment the knife came slashing through the air towards Alex's head and he ducked sharply, feeling the knife graze his hair. Alex straightened up swiftly and fired the gun again, this time ready for the recoil, but the man was already through the door and he missed again, but Alex caught the man's gloating smile as he disappeared.

Alex did not run after him, but rushed towards Wolf, crouching down in front of him.

"Wolf ... are you OK?"

"Thanks to you ... God, that was close –"

"– where are the others?" Alex asked hurriedly, checking behind him as he said it.

"They're dead."

"What, _all _of them? I saw Matheson ..."

"They're all dead. They knew we were coming, they'd changed the layout. We've got to get out of here now ...they've probably wired the whole place to blow."

"Can you move?"

Haltingly, but with as much speed as they dared, Alex and Wolf staggered out of the hanger, Wolf leaning heavily on Alex. As they collapsed by the barbed wire fence, there was an enormous explosion from behind them; the hanger had exploded, no doubt from C4 planted by Scorpia who, as Wolf had pointed out, had known they were coming. A huge wave of heat shot over them and debris showered down. Alex could think of nothing but the charred bodies of the already dead men from inside.

"This was all my fault ..." Alex said heavily.

"No it's not, Cub ... we probably never got to the part where you were held, and they knew we were coming –"

"But that's just it! I was never held here! Or if I was, I don't remember it!"

Wolf's expression was one of confusion. "What are you talking about?"

"I don't remember anything, Wolf. My mind is completely blank. They only sanctioned this mission because they thought I'd know where to go when we got here – and I've never been here! I didn't recognise any of their faces ... I don't even know the name Weisman. And if I hadn't lied, maybe they'd all still be alive ..."

Wolf was silent for a moment. It seemed to take him a while to digest this new information. He looked back at Alex, who was rubbing his eyes.

"Maybe they would ... maybe they wouldn't. Look, Scorpia knew we were coming, no matter what. And that part has nothing to do with you."

"But I –"

"No but's. Yeah, OK, maybe you should have told _me, _if no one else. But I get why you didn't. You're trying to find out what happened to you, and odds are, whether you made it up or not, Scorpia are behind it. In the time you were gone, they've been causing some serious damage."

Alex looked up, taking a deep breath.

"I can't go back with you, Wolf."

"What? Why?"

"Because they'll know I lied. When I can't tell them anything useful, they'll see right through it. Or at least that bastard Shutter will, and my whole clearance will be pulled. I _need _my clearance to find out what happened to me!"

Wolf stared at him. "You're really serious? Where are you going to go?"

"I have no idea ... I can take care of myself, but I need MI6 to trust me again, so I can figure this all out ... I need that chip so they'll know they can count on me ..."

"Did you get a good look at that guy's face?"

"Yes."

"OK ... you're not going to like what I'm going to say, but it could help you. You should go and see Yassen Gregorovitch."

Alex raised his eyebrows in disbelief. "Pardon?"

"Gregorovitch. He runs a prominent relief agency in Zurich –"

"-wait a minute, wait a minute ... Yassen Gregorovitch is _dead_. I watched him die on an aeroplane when that crazed singer shot him. I watched him die!" Alex repeated in disbelief.

"No, you didn't. We thought he was dead too. After you and that girl got off that plane, it was infiltrated by god knows who, and they took him off and resuscitated him. Trust me, if I hadn't seen him for myself, I wouldn't have believed it to be true either, Alex, but it is. He's alive, and he's head of the Third World Programme."

"But ... but _how_? He's an international terrorist!"

Wolf gave an ironic smile. "He's negotiated a pardon with the British government. MI6 weren't happy about it at all, but with all his contact he agreed to be an intelligence consultant."

"I don't believe this ... I actually don't ..."

"Alex, you don't have a lot of time," said Wolf. "My comm is up and working, HQ is asking what's going on. What do you want me to tell them?"

Alex bit his lip and looked at the lightening morning sky over Valais.

"Tell them what happened with the others, and tell them that you never saw me. This conversation never happened."

And with that, he stood up and holstered his gun.

"Alex ... be careful."

Alex nodded. "I will. Thanks, Wolf. You're a real friend."

Wolf shrugged and made to speak into the comm. Alex understood this as a sign that he should get the hell out of there, and go and see Gregorovitch.

- - - - - - - - - - -


	6. Dead Man Walking

**Chapter 6 - Dead Man Walking**

**- - - - - - - - **

The dawn was beginning to break over Switzerland and the grey light filtered through the dirty window of the train, bumping along the track towards Zurich. Alex's head was pressed against the window and his eyes were closed, but he was not asleep. How could he sleep, now he knew who he was on his way to see?

Alex had been certain that Yassen Gregorovitch was dead. He had watched him die himself, when Damien Cray had shot him in cold blood on that plane. _How _could he have survived? Not on his own, that was for sure. There was someone else behind this, some other organisation, and Alex felt somehow, inexplicably, that it was all linked to his own disappearance.

The train shuddered to a halt and Alex dragged himself back from the deep pool of thought and got to his feet. There was no one around on the platform; there hadn't been many people on the train, it was so early in the day.

The Zurich Romerhof was a large station with domed glass roofs and various shops and cafes, but Alex took no notice of any of them. He went out the exit and headed for the cab stand outside. The city was just beginning to wake up; the cars bustled by and there was a tangible heat in the air, waiting to descend as the day drew on, making the dreary commuters sweat in their grey suits.

Alex slipped into a taxi outside the station and addressed the driver.

"Zur dritten Welt Programmieren Hauptquartier, bitte," Alex said confidently. _To the Third World Programme HQ please._

He was pleased to find his German hadn't deserted him, and the driver nodded and put his foot down.

- - - - - - - -

Upon arrival to the Third World Programme HQ, Alex saw that security was extremely tight. There was going to be no way he could infiltrate the complex without being seen or detected. He was just going to have to be very upfront about it.

As he walked through the sun drenched main doors, Alex still couldn't believe how Gregorovitch had managed this. Running a programme like this should be reserved for real patriots, people who deserved it, not people who could blow a building up as soon as look at it. Alex had made his peace with Yassen when he thought he had died. Knowing he had partnered his father when they were young, and how he had always done his best to keep Alex out of the world of espionage had made a difference in the face of death. But now he was alive ... it was different.

The welcome desk was bordered with flowers and a huge mural on the back wall of a very thin child in the arms of a WHP representative.

He glanced at the computer screen at the front desk and searched for the name he was looking for.

**Y. E. Gregorovitch**

**Head of Operational Relief**

**1****st**** Floor, Room 1032**

Alex looked up at the woman with glasses behind the desk.

"Was kann ich für Sie tun?" she asked in a mildly polite voice.

"I'm here to see Mr Gregorovitch."

She blinked and stared at him. He had asked in English, thinking there was no point in speaking in German any more, and thought for a moment that she had not understood him, but then she opened her mouth and spoke with a heavy accent.

"You have an appointment?"

"No. But he'll know what it's about."

She continued to stare, but then picked up the phone.

"Es gibt ein Kind, hier, zum von Yassen zu sehen. Ist er vorhanden?"

She paused for a moment, then nodded and put the phone down, looking back up at Alex.

"I am sorry, he is not available."

Alex paused and then strode past her towards a door he had seen him on the way in. It was locked with a code, but someone in a suit had just gone through it, and Alex caught it with his foot.

"Excuse me ..." she said, but Alex had pushed his way through an office door.

"Hey! You can't go that way –" and she pushed a security button.

Alex was already half way along the corridor and found the door he was looking for within a minute.

Room 1032 was at the end of the long corridor lined with plush armchairs and a thick red carpet. Alex could hear footsteps behind him, but he had already thrown the door open with considerable force.

Yassen Gregorovitch did not look up from his large mahogany desk as Alex burst into his office. Alex could see that the Russian had aged in the past two years; his hair had several streaks of grey in it and there were lines around his deep set intelligent eyes.

Alex stood in front of the desk, his heart pounding. Right behind him came a security guard waving a baton and moving towards Alex.

"It's OK, Harold," said Yassen, still not looking up.

"But ..."

"Close the door behind you, please."

The guard opened and closed his mouth, but then moved backwards out of the room and closed the door. Yassen finally looked up.

"Alex. I was expecting you."

"Really? I wasn't expecting you. _Alive._"

A wry smile curved the corners of his lips and he leant back in his leather swivel chair.

"Ah yes, that. Well, you have been out of the loop for a couple of years, or so I've heard."

Alex made a sceptical noise and took a step forward towards the desk. "I suppose you're going to tell me that you had no idea?"

Yassen said nothing for a moment. Alex took this as a yes.

"A team of operatives were ambushed yesterday in Valais by Scorpia. They've stolen something and I need to get it back."

Alex spoke very quickly, as though it were the last thing he wanted to do. Yassen opened a file on his desk, looking away from Alex.

"I saw the face of one of the men who ambushed us. You're going to help me ID him."

Gregorovitch stood up, taking the file with him.

"Well, Alex ... you must be in real trouble to come to _me _for help, of all people."

Alex ignored him and stared coldly. Yassen handed Alex the file.

"His name is Antonin Moltov. He's a rogue Russian agent, now working for Scorpia." Alex stared at the picture in the file; it was the man he had seen in Valais alright. Yassen sat on the edge of his desk and surveyed Alex with an almost amused look on his face.

"Coincidence," Alex said slowly, "that you just happened to have this file ready and waiting –"

"– like I said, I was expecting you."

Still Alex said nothing. He was not sure what kind of game Gregorovitch was playing, but he was going to be extremely careful.

"I have heard about your housekeeper being deported. Now, from the little I know of you and the way you work, I imagine you are trying to find a way to bring her back, am I right?"

Alex was silent.

"I remember when your father and I used to have conversations like this –"

Alex snapped. Something had broken through in his head, like a dam bursting. He grabbed the lapels of Yassen's jacket and slammed his head and torso into the glass table in front of them. Either Yassen had not known the attack was coming, or he was purposely doing nothing to prevent it.

"Where the hell have I been for the past two years? What did you have to do with it? I know it was you!"

With his arms twisted behind his back, Gregorovitch could not move.

"Alex ... .do you believe in redemption?" he said with difficulty.

"Not for you, no," Alex snarled, twisting even harder.

"I've helped to feed over two million starving children worldwide. We fund research into thousands of supposedly incurable diseases. I am at the forefront of this. So much has changed since you've been gone!"

Alex stepped back and wrenched Yassen back up, letting go. Yassen turned around to face Alex.

"I have changed, Alex. My near death experience convinced me that I must have a higher purpose in this world; that I was meant to survive. That's why I've given MI6, the Security Service, GCHQ, SOCA, you name it, all of them information that I had access to. It's helped to dismantle several terrorist cells and disrupt individual activities. I have also invested all the millions I made in the trade into the Third World Programme."

Alex was silent, breathing heavily.

"I have no idea how you managed to convince Blunt and whoever else that you're trustworthy. I don't know what you did –"

"– Why don't you check my files yourself? Surely you have access to them. You can ask anybody ..."

"I don't have to. I know you too well. And I don't buy _any _of it."

Alex snatched the file still lying on the desk between them, then turned his back on Yassen and strode to the door.

"That's your choice," said Yassen quietly. Alex ignored him and slammed the door behind him.

- - - - - - - - -


End file.
